Eclipse of the Black Moon
by Okty Budiati
For some reason, I read the measurement boundary at displacement for an unknown space. My death is a tragedy that is starting to create a way of life that will follow without an identity of its own. My own, most miserably, contributing to hopelessness in waiting. In my sorrowful of love, I am misinterpreted as anger. The silence has many reasons for my trust you never had. How to communicate at its best? I am speechless in any language to express my love for you by now.
I am a fair word without a heavenly voice. With malicious pleasure, the memory of hell Fortune, I might say, is unpredictable. So much reliance on passion, self-broken The wind blows, which keeps the heart warm. A romantically dark, secretly melancholy flower To follow the crack of evening with quiet day-steps My soul's affairs are unfulfilled feelings. All these blurry reflections of unknown emotions sparkle. Immortality of tomorrow's fate... Tears slipped before all fears clouded over wasted grief.
A collapsed imagination, essentially plundering the heart of a soul. I am no longer a unified individual taking on an understandable situation. A fantasy within that is logically comparable to every stage of life, unnoticed tears. What is survival in the meantime, when life is the primal fall of a human? In all forms of communication, the negation of love goes too far, and it's fatally. To this inadequately stated discussion, bleakness said, “Stop all of the nonsense. I've become passive.” For a hungry soul, no more sun will shine.
Where were they laid as the natural limits, essentially? Let me learn a little more about the verification of your language. I have no right to speak because there is no order outside of my humanity. This process results in the dynamics of susceptible instability. You've decided to avoid the promises you've made. I'm insulting my life as an error curse.
When you create the belief that I am a broken mirror now because I have a second chance at a new beginning in error, a circle of mirrors will never be smooth. There's nothing to read here. I'm just a piece of debris. I will never be repaired but will take the pieces as my path before the end of my breathing journey. I will never have the courage to argue with a statement as I sit here in the solitude of the city-space and wonder how complex it is to love you individually. You made my image as it is and I accept it exhaustively.
I will never have any power to liberate myself anymore.
Since all our intimacy shakes your trust, see my heart from afar where I am alive with the poetry of sadness in tears. I am a black bile who always loves you without full sun shine and sparkling stars anymore. I am the expression of death of a tragedy caused by words. Let me go as the dust beautifully, be only I, an eclipse of a black moon.